Under Pressure
by VivacissimoVoce
Summary: Harry Potter has quit magic and left the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy, a top-notch Tracker, has been hired to find him and save his life. Contains mature language and sexual content
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Under Pressure  
**Disclaimer:** All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.  
**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron  
**Warnings:** Contains mature language and sexual content  
**Rating:** M  
**Summary:** Harry Potter has quit magic and left the wizarding world. Draco, a top-notch Tracker, has been hired to find him and save his life.  
**Author's Note:** This is what you get when I try to write a "short" fic. I wrote it as a one-shot but then decided to break it up into chapters, because even my short fics are too long to be short fics. Dedicated to all of the flowers out there who blossomed after high school.

**oOo**

Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the slatted shutters that lined the front window of the cozy shopfront. The rich, golden glow of autumn glinted off of the ever-present dust that floated in the air like sprites and outlined the precise lines of the sun's rays. Draco closed his ledger book and laid down his quill. It had been a long day.

"If I have to brew one more fidelity potion this month I might just close up shop," he sighed as he scratched the chin of his Persian cat. "I'm telling you, Hairy, just one more and we'll lock up and move back to the manor for good."

The cat gazed up at him with vivid green eyes, her lids half closed in utter pleasure as he scrubbed her most favorite spot. She flopped over onto her side and made kitty fists on the time-worn oak desktop.

"You're right, it's time to call it a day and relax," Draco said. He crossed to the front door and peeked out at the shoppers still milling about Diagon Alley and fondled the latch on the door. If he closed up now it would be twenty minutes ahead of his posted hours. It was his shop, he could do whatever he wanted to, but twenty minutes was pushing it.

"Keep an eye on things," he told the cat. "I'm going to run upstairs for just a moment." The cat twitched her fluffy black tail once and closed her eyes.

Draco ran upstairs and passed through the finely appointed parlor to the kitchen, where he dodged around a house elf and tossed open the pantry. It was orderly and well-stocked, but contained nothing that appealed to him at the moment. Tonight might be a good night to pop out for take-away.

"Don't bother cooking tonight," he told the elf. "I'm going out."

"Yes sir, Master Draco, sir," the house elf said.

"Give Hairy an extra treat with her supper," he added as he closed up the pantry. "And she needs a brushing, too."

"Yes sir, Master Draco, sir."

Draco fished a handful of chicken nibblets from a jar on the counter and skipped back down to the shop. He was just feeding Hairy her third snack when the door chimed.

"Oh no, Hermione turn around. We'll go somewhere else."

Draco looked up in surprise as Ron Weasley stumbled across the threshold and tried to reverse back out again. Hermione Granger blocked his way, her diminutive stature somehow significant enough to hold the tall man at bay.

"Move it, Ronald. You'll crush Rose," she snapped.

Ron shuffled into the shop and sidled along the front windows to maintain his distance from Draco. Hermione entered with a pram that held a sleeping baby. Hairy lurched to her feet and dashed into a corner at the sight of the wheeled contraption.

"Fancy meeting you here," Draco drawled, hoping his tone would cover up his dismay at his former schoolmates' appearance.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione nodded politely. "Is this your shop?"

"It is," Draco folded his arms across his chest. He told himself not to be standoffish but old habits die hard.

"How have you been?" she asked. "We haven't seen you since graduation, I suppose."

"I've been well," Draco raised an eyebrow. He looked back and forth between the two former Gryffindors. "You two are breeding, I see."

"We were married two years ago," Hermione said. Ron's gaze was fixed on the rough-hewn plank floor.

"Ah."

"Her name is Rose," Hermione added.

"Lovely," Draco nodded. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. "What brings you in today?"

"We were told this shop is owned by a Tracker," Hermione said. She rolled the pram back and forth and eyed the baby as she stretched and yawned.

"It is."

"You're the Tracker?" she asked, the first annoyance creeping into her voice. Draco wasn't intentionally giving her short answers. Or maybe he was. He was very uncomfortable.

"I am," he said. She frowned and sighed so he kept going, "I specialize in magic that binds to people. Love potions, fidelity charms, spells to recover lost memories, spells to forget lost love. And I'm a Tracker."

"How did you end up in a lovey dovey feeling line of work, Malfoy?" Ron looked up and away again.

Draco stared hard at the top of his head. He waited until Ron looked up again. "It's been a long time since school, Weasley. A lot can change in six years."

"I would have thought you'd start a thugs for hire business," Ron shot back. "That's more suited to your personality."

"In that case I assume you've become a slug farmer, is that about right?" Draco snapped.

"Hold on here," Hermione raised her hands between them. "Can we please act like adults?"

"Indeed," Draco raised an eyebrow. "Otherwise you're welcome to take your business elsewhere."

"Maybe that's a good idea, come on Hermione," Ron tried to wave her out of the shop.

"Of course you'll never find a better Tracker than me," Draco added. "I hope you're not missing something too important."

Hermione and Ron stared at each other, each a portrait of stubbornness. He bugged his eyes out, she shook her head. He tossed his hands up, she glowered and sighed.

"If you've lost your keys, by all means hire someone else," Draco said, leaning his shoulder casually on the wall. "But if it's important-"

"It's Harry," Hermione interrupted. "He's missing."

Draco's stomach lurched. Why couldn't it have been lost keys? "What do you mean by missing? Isn't that a matter for the Ministry?"

"He quit the Ministry," Hermione's brow furrowed with worry. "He quit a year ago and left."

"They still do missing persons investigations," Draco glanced up at the clock and noted that it was closing time. He needed to hustle them out so he could lock up. "It's been marvelous catching up with you but I need to be going. Thanks for stopping by."

"He quit magic entirely," Hermione raised her voice.

Draco's stomach twisted again. He didn't like the sound of that, not that he would let them see it.

"He's given it up. He lives as a muggle now," she went on. Her lips pressed in a thin line and she looked to Ron for support. He touched her shoulder and nodded grimly.

"So there's one less hero in the Wizarding World," Draco pretended he didn't care. But inside his mind was reeling. Harry Potter had really left the Wizarding World for good? There was something distinctly disturbing about that.

"Draco," Hermione stepped forward, releasing the pram and clasping her hands together. "He's given up magic. He refuses to use it at all. He doesn't know what that means."

Draco sat on the edge of his stool and considered his response carefully. He couldn't act concerned. He couldn't share their distress. There would be time for that later when he was alone.

"We need to find him, Malfoy," Ron said softly. He looked up through his eyebrows, this time without malice. "If we don't," his voice trailed off.

"Potter goes boom," Draco nodded.

The three Hogwarts alums stared grimly at each other. Draco understood now. If they didn't find Harry soon, he would die.

**oOo**

Against his better judgement Draco invited the Weasley family upstairs to his flat for a cup of tea. He latched the front door and switched the shop lights off before leading the way upstairs with Hairy in his arms. She flicked her tail angrily and squirmed out of his grasp as soon as they crested the top step.

Draco summoned the tea and offered some milk for the baby. Hermione declined but seemed grateful for the thoughtful offer.

"When was the last time you saw Potter?" Draco asked as he sat in his favorite leather wingback chair. Hairy appeared from nowhere and jumped into his lap. He would pay for her affections with a lapful of black fur but he didn't mind.

"About eight months ago," Hermione said. She scooped the baby into her arms and hoisted her shirt up to feed. Draco shifted uncomfortably and tried not to think about the last time he'd seen a woman's breasts. It had been years, he was certain.

"Sorry. Do you mind terribly?" she asked.

"No, be my guest," Draco focused on the cat in his lap.

"He left a year ago when he quit the Ministry. Moved to London and got a job in a greengrocer's," she said. "We kept in touch for a while, but then one day he was just gone. Completely gone without a trace."

"He left this note," Ron extended a slip of parchment across the cocktail table. "It says he's sorry but it's too hard to give up magic if we're around."

Draco accepted the paper and closed his eyes. He could feel the sorrow in it, the panic and fear. Harry had cried while writing it, had written two drafts before sending this one.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked dubiously, breaking his concentration.

"Shut up, Weasel," Draco snapped automatically. "I'm trying to focus."

"Sorry," Ron muttered. He slumped in his chair and scowled at his shoes.

Draco focused on the note again but his concentration was too ruffled now. He sighed and dropped it onto the table. "What else have you got?"

"Lots of things," Hermione hauled her purse onto the sofa while she continued to feed on the other side. She dug her arm impossibly deep into its interior and pulled out a framed photo, a shimmery silver cloak, a golden Snitch, a blue muggle T-shirt with a burgundy West Ham shield on the breast, and a red and gold striped Gryffindor scarf.

"Hold up now," Draco seized her wrist to halt her frantic unpacking. "We're not turning my flat into the Saint Potter Memorial Museum."

"I have all of his things," she said weakly. "I don't know what will help."

Draco rummaged through the pile and tossed the Snitch and the cloak back into her lap. He hefted the photo and surmised that it showed Harry's parents. He focused briefly but picked up nothing useful so he tossed it into her lap, too.

"When is this from?" he held up the T-shirt. It felt strange to be holding Harry's clothes. "Did he wear this recently?"

"It was on the floor of his flat when he disappeared," Ron said. "So he probably wore it before he left."

"I'll keep this, the letter, and the scarf," Draco folded the items together and set them aside. He rotated his wrist and conjured a small glossy notecard, which he handed over to Hermione. If he knew Granger, she would be the one who held the family purse strings.

"What is this?" She scanned the card and sat up straight in her chair. "Are these your rates?"

"You came to the best," he said. "I offer a premium service."

"We can't afford that!" she handed the card to Ron.

"This is robbery," Ron tossed the card back at Draco.

"I'm not running a charity. I have a natural talent for Tracking and I don't take on clients lightly. If I agree to do this, I will find him," Draco regarded them with a haughty sneer. He would not be talked into haggling.

Then again, he thought, if they truly couldn't afford it they would certainly take their business elsewhere. And for reasons he wasn't prepared to discuss he did not want them to take their business elsewhere. He wanted the job. It would take some clever manipulation to turn the situation in his favor.

"I don't owe Potter anything, and I don't owe you a discount on my services," he said, staring at them significantly. Nothing wrong with a bit of Legilimency, he thought as he projected the seed of an idea. As he suspected, Ron had the weakest defenses.

"Fiendfyre!" Ron yelped, startling himself. "Harry saved you. You owe him a life debt."

"No I don't," Draco lied.

"Yes you do!" Ron's voice cracked. "If Harry hadn't pulled you out you would have died."

"Perhaps."

"Not perhaps, definitely!"

"Okay fine, maybe I do," Draco pretended to give in. "I suppose I could do it at no charge if it would pay the life debt."

"What do you think?" Ron asked Hermione.

"He's going to die if we don't find him," Hermione's eyes welled up. "Draco will be saving his life. That would pay the debt."

"So are we agreed?" Draco looked back and forth between them. "Leave these items with me tonight so I can try to get a reading on them," he said. "Come back tomorrow and we'll draw up an agreement."

"But," Hermione chewed her lip. "Okay but be careful with that letter. It's the last thing we have of him."

"I won't lose it," he rose and waved them to the door. "Now if you don't mind, I had plans for the evening that didn't involve playing host to a couple of dopey Gryffindors."

"You're as friendly as ever, Malfoy," Ron grumbled as he and Hermione maneuvered the pram down the stairs. Draco waved his hand and unlatched the door from the stairwell, then secured it with another wave behind them.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened to the silence his visitors had left behind. For the first time since their arrival he allowed himself to exhale and truly feel the magnitude of their request. If Harry Potter was gone, that was bad. Maybe even for Draco. Maybe especially for Draco.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco went back upstairs and found Hairy sniffing the red and gold scarf. "Not for you, darling," he scooped her up and looked her in the eyes. "Daddy is going to go away for a while. Auntie Millie will take good care of you, okay?"

The cat blinked and swiveled her ears. The white slash of fur in front of her right ear twitched. He dropped her onto the sofa and picked up the t-shirt. Closing his eyes he focused on it with his inner eye, picturing Harry Potter wearing it, how he felt. He sensed sorrow, pain, and isolation. He sensed the frantic urge to escape, to hide.

He took the shirt, scarf, and letter into his bedroom and placed them on the vanity. It was time for supper but he still didn't know what he wanted. Nothing sounded appealing. He considered fire-calling Millicent Bulstrode and seeing what her plans were, before remembering that she had a date planned. She would always make time for him, but he respected their friendship too much to interrupt her evening.

He lifted the blue T-shirt again and stroked the soft cotton with his fingertips. He raised it to his nose and inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of the previous owner. It had been six years since school, and nearly a year since it had been worn, but he knew that scent. Knew it well. His heart ached.

He set it down and yanked his own shirt off. He then drew the blue T-shirt over his head and shoved his arms through. It was a little too big for him, which meant either Harry liked to wear his T-shirts baggy or he had bulked up since school. He turned to the side and inspected his reflection. The elaborate sleeve tattoo that covered his left arm from shoulder to wrist was complemented nicely by the modern muggle style.

He was suddenly sick of the wizarding world, sick of the pressures of being important. He wanted to get away, far far away. It was the influence of the shirt. He had keyed into Harry's mind and it was drawing him along a path. He was Tracking.

He closed his eyes and plunged deep into the memory that lay trapped between the fibers of the fabric. He could hear the sound of traffic, the hustle and bustle of shoppers, the ringing of tills. In his mind's eye he could see himself dressed in a long, green apron, arranging cucumbers on a produce stand. His glasses slipped down his nose as he reached into a crate and pulled out a short vine of tomatoes. He was satisfied with his work, proud of his perfect pyramid of peppers. He showed an elderly lady to the lettuces and smiled broadly when she didn't know his name.

Draco took a deep breath and Disapparated. He arrived in the produce section of a muggle greengrocer's and quickly cast a generalized Obliviate to erase the memory of his sudden arrival. He looked around at the mounds of vegetables and knew with certainty that Harry had been here. He walked between the bins and waved his hands across the surfaces, looking for traces of recent residence, but any signal was long gone, dispersed among the throngs of shoppers.

"Can I help you find something?" a voice behind him spoke up. He turned and met the friendly smile of a muggle girl, chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail, clad in a green apron that hung past her knees.

"I'm looking for a friend," Draco said. "I think he used to work here. Name's Harry."

"I only started last week," the girl shook her head. "I don't know of any Harry. Have you checked the Employee of the Month wall?"

She waved for Draco to follow and led him to a stretch of tile beside the butcher counter. A long row of photos extended from end to end, stacked five rows high. Draco immediately noticed that none of the pictures moved.

"There's a Harry, is this him?" She pointed at the bottom row, nine photos from the end.

"That's him," Draco nodded. He stared at the photo in wonder, stunned by the change in his former school rival. The photo was nine months out of date, but that still made it five years more current than Draco's last memory of him.

His hair was still a mess, a thicket of short black spikes that he had trimmed closely around the back and sides. His glasses were still round, burnished dark frames encircling eyes that were as green as his apron. His smile was still goofy and sincere as usual. But that was where the familiarity ended.

He was ruggedly handsome, no longer the scrawny, gawky boy he's been in his youth. His shoulders were broad, much broader than they had been in school. His neck was thick, muscular from his years training at the Auror Academy. And his scar was faded, almost nonexistent, just a thin silver lightning bolt above his right eye.

"My manager will be in tomorrow afternoon," the girl interrupted his musing. "She could probably tell you where he went after he left here."

"That would be great, thank you," Draco nodded. He could feel her eyes on him, inspecting his tattoo and checking his hand for a wedding ring.

"I get off in an hour," she said boldly. "Come by I'd you'd like to have a drink."

"I wish I could," he lied. "But I'm late for a supper engagement. Thank you for your help."

"Suit yourself," she winked saucily and went back to the produce department.

Draco checked around and then grazed his fingers over Harry's photo. He gleaned nothing from it. Harry hadn't interacted with it so he'd left no signature behind. Draco would have to come back tomorrow in the hopes of learning anything new. He lingered just for a moment longer, then with a quick swipe of his thumb down Harry's cheek he turned and left.

**oOo**

Draco awoke early. He always woke up early, usually after fitful dreams. In the six years since the war he had not yet figured out how to put the haunting memories behind him.

He stared at the fresco on his ceiling and tried to remember last night's dreams. He could recall blackness, an inevitable rising tide that threatened to swallow him whole. Little more than the amorphous sense of dread that had entered his life at age sixteen and hadn't left since.

He rolled over and ran his hand over the blue muggle T-shirt that lay on the pillow next to him. He drew it to his nose and inhaled deeply, once again catching the faint scent of its former owner. He slipped his hand beneath the covers and rubbed his thumb across the head of his cock, the image of Harry's employee of the month photo fixed in his mind's eye.

The memory of a warm spring day, a furtive touch, the soft glancing of hands swam to the surface. It was the smallest possible memory one could form, barely an event. But one whiff of that T-shirt and it descended upon him like a tidal wave. He pressed the shirt to his nose and came with a gasp beneath the sheets. He hummed softly to himself as a small smile crept across his lips. Maybe he should convince Hermione to let him keep the shirt.

"Draco! Are you awake?"

"I am now," he called back.

"Can I come through?"

"I don't know, Millie," he groaned and cast a clean-up charm over his sheets and lofted the T-shirt over to the vanity. "I'm not really put together yet."

"I'm coming through."

The Floo in the parlor whooshed and a breath later Millicent Bulstrode stood in his doorway, eyes sparkling and clothes rumpled as though she had slept in them.

"Come on," Draco Scourgified his breath and patted the mattress beside him. Millicent climbed over him and curled up on the pillow. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"Good date," she grinned.

"Must have been," he plucked her sleeve.

"What did you do last night?" she asked. Hairy jumped up onto the bed and sniffed her hair before nestling into the crook of her elbow.

"Went to London for supper," he paused before continuing, employing some effort to keep his voice neutral. "Got a Tracking job yesterday."

"Who?" Millicent absentmindedly stroked Hairy's back.

"Just some nosy, owl-eyed, Gryffindor prat," Draco waved a negligent hand at the vanity, where the red and gold striped scarf lay neatly folded before the mirror.

Millicent's eyes bugged out, "No."

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Seems our resident savior has departed."

"And of course you took the job."

"Don't look at me like that."

"It's been six years. We've all changed," Millicent poked him in the side. "Maybe he's changed, too. He might not hate you anymore."

"That's not why I'm doing it," Draco said. "It seems his life may be in danger, and if I can bring him back it will pay my life debt."

"That's a good cover story," Millicent smirked.

"Millie."

"You can't lie to me, Draco," she said. "Trust me to know your tastes." She nodded pointedly at the sleeping cat.

"Don't you want to know who hired me?" Draco let the question dangle. "Granger and the Weasel."

"No," Millicent's eyes bugged out again. "They're still hanging out together?"

"Worse. They're married. And they have a baby," Draco loved her reaction. They didn't often talk about school, not having been friends during the later years, but when they did it was nice to commiserate.

"Blaise and Pansy are back together, Ron and Hermione are married, are we the only ones who have moved on with our lives?" she asked. "Are we the only ones who are happy to put those sodding miserable school years behind us?"

"I wish they could have seen you," Draco smiled. "Weasley expected me to be exactly the same as when I was fifteen. Imagine how shocked he would be if you showed up."

"The next time you see them can you at least work it into the conversation?" she asked. "Mention that I'm a healer. Use the word successful. You can even tell them I shagged a very handsome bloke last night."

"I can't imagine how I would work that into the conversation."

"Mention that I lost weight. Tell them that university was very good for me," she sat up, disturbing the cat.

"Millie, darling," Draco patted her arm. "You don't need their approval."

"I know," she cocked her head. "But it would be nice to show them that everyone was wrong about me."

"I know," he squeezed her hand. "Me, too."

They were both quiet for a moment, each pondering their school days. Finally Millicent sighed.

"If Harry is still friends with Ron and Hermione, and they're still stuck in their schooldays mindset," she said, "then he's probably stuck, too."

"Which means he still hates me," Draco finished her thought. He shrugged, "that seemed pretty bloody likely anyway."

"Nothing lost, nothing gained," she said.

"Nothing lost, nothing gained," he echoed.

He thought back to that distant spring day, down by the lake, fingers threading together for the briefest moment. A glance up into green eyes and then the moment gone. He'd never shared that memory with Millicent. They hadn't become friends again until two years out of school. So there was no way to explain to her that she was wrong. As long as he had that memory, he had something to lose.


	3. Chapter 3

"Let's get this over with, Malfoy. We'd like to get on with our day."

"You're the ones who waited until afternoon to come by," Draco closed his ledger book and toyed casually with his quill.

Ron glared at him but couldn't argue. He towered over Draco's desk with little Rose dangling from his chest in a strange front-side knapsack with leg holes. Judging by the materials it was certainly muggle made.

"What do you need from us?" Hermione shifted a heavy nappy bag from one shoulder to the other. Draco flicked his wand and levitated it across the room to hang from a wall peg. Two stools obediently danced forward and bumped the backs of their knees, effectively seating them both without fuss.

"I want to document the agreement that I'm doing this job free of charge in exchange for your vow that I discharged my life debt to Potter." His quill scratched his words in long, scrolling text on a slip of parchment.

"Only if you bring him home," Hermione said.

"I don't have to bring him home to find him and save his life," Draco reminded her. "I'm a Tracker, not a Labrador retriever."

"Bring him home," she folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

"It's not enough to know he's alive and happy? Maybe he doesn't want to come home."

"Right," Hermione looked to Ron for help. He was looking down at their daughter and gently stroking her chubby arm with one finger.

"Five hundred Galleons," he said.

"I already said it's free of charge," Draco said. His cat jumped up on the desk and flopped down on top of his parchments.

"Five hundred if you bring him home," Ron looked up. "And you'll need to figure out a way to prove you found him and saved him if you can't."

"I can prove I found him easily enough. How do I prove I've saved him?" Draco asked. "Saving him means he won't blow up. Does it count if I show him not blown up? How do I prove a negative?"

"Show him doing magic," Hermione said. "That's what he needs to do."

"Fine," Draco rolled his eyes.

"He's going to need to do a lot of magic," Hermione added. "He's very powerful, you know."

"Yes, yes," Draco rolled his eyes again.

"Malfoy," Ron said sharply. "Listen to her. He's more powerful than you remember."

"I'm sure it seems that way," Draco tickled Hairy's paws with his quill.

"He really is," Hermione said. "He's done nothing but get stronger since you-know-who died. It's like it unlocked something in him."

Draco eyed her closely and took a quick dip into her mind, correctly assuming she would be unguarded. She was telling the truth. He could see Harry in her memory, both physically magically stronger. If she was correct, his situation was more dire than Draco had imagined.

"If you're telling the truth," he said. "Then I'll not only pay my life debt to Potter, but I may end up with several muggles owing a life debt to me." He leaned forward and pointed with his quill, "If he's as powerful as you say and he's not using his magic, when he blows he could take out everyone around him."

"That's why we're here," Ron said soberly.

"Then let's get this signed," Draco sat back. "Tracking and saving at no charge, five hundred galleons for returning him."

"Fine," Hermione nodded.

Draco nudged the cat and tugged the parchment agreement free. "Come on, Hairy, move it," he said without thinking.

Ron and Hermione stared at each other and then back at him.

"You named your cat Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice a little too neutral to be neutral.

"Not like that," Draco swallowed a grimace. Of course it would look that way. "She's a Persian. Long hair. Hairy."

"Come on, mate," Ron curled his lip. "It's a coincidence?"

"How would it be anything but a coincidence?" Draco tried not to panic. Of course it looked like no coincidence.

"So it's a coincidence that you named your black haired, green eyed cat Hairy," Ron's lip curled further.

"Yes," Draco said. "It's been nearly a decade since school. How could it be anything but a coincidence?"

"Six years," Ron corrected him. "And that white slash above her right eye? Also a coincidence?"

"I didn't even name her," Draco said too loudly. "She was a gift from Millicent. She chose the name."

"Millicent Bulstrode?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"Yes, she's a very dear friend, and you can wipe that look off of your face because she is a very lovely girl who you haven't seen since school," Draco's voice was still too loud.

Hermione looked stunned. "Well I wasn't-"

"And she happens to be a very successful healer now. And she shagged a handsome bloke last night." Draco wanted to slap himself for that last bit.

"Draco, I don't-"

"No!" Draco lurched to his feet and pointed accusingly. "You two come in here, still the old Gryffindor trio minus one, and he treats me like nothing has changed, and you were doubtful that I would be Millie's friend, and it's like you never left Hogwarts!" He glared down at them. He knew he had escalated too quickly but he couldn't reign it in. And that sodding black-haired, green-eyed cat was still sitting on his parchments like evidence at a crime scene.

"Well," Hermione was taken aback. "I'll admit I was surprised about Millicent. It's perfectly natural to think of people as you last saw them, you know."

"And it's perfectly natural to expect you to still be a bloody awful prat," Ron added.

"Shall I assume you're still poor and she's still a know-it-all?" Draco sneered. He hauled himself up short as he realized how close he had come to saying mudblood. Not even after six years, not even to make an intellectual point would it be okay to use that word.

"Please sit down," Hermione said softly. She reached over and touched the top of Rose's head. Miraculously the baby had slept through his ranting.

The wind went out of Draco's sails. He dropped into his chair and picked up the agreement parchment again. "I apologize for my outburst," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I apologize for our assumptions," Hermione said with equal dignity.

"Please sign here," Draco handed her the quill. She signed, then passed it to Ron for his signature.

The front door chimed and a school-aged boy poked his head in. Draco waved him over and pointed at a potion rack in the corner. The boy hefted it and eyed the labels.

"All to the same address today," Draco said. He lofted a coin across the room and set a second one on the desk. "Make it back in under an hour and i'll give you a third one."

The boy dashed for the door, the bundle of potions braced under his arm. Ron and Hermione turned back to him expectantly. Draco smiled slyly.

"A certain secret society of swingers like to indulge in a bit of aphrodisiac play once a month," he said casually. "I can't say who, of course."

"Of course," Hermione murmured.

"As for your job I anticipate that finding him will take between one and five days," Draco said, relieved to finally be talking about the task at hand. "However, given our history, as well as my assumption that his inability to get over the past is similar to yours, convincing him to return to magic and the Wizarding world may take a bit more effort. I don't anticipate that this will be easy." He folded the parchment and set it aside. "If you have a need to contact me you may direct an owl here, and my house elves will deliver the message to me wherever I am," he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Any questions?"

"How did you get to be the best Tracker in all of England?" Ron asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Draco shrugged as though it were obvious. "I'm a very powerful wizard, too, Weasley."

**oOo**

"I'll take good care of Hairy," Millicent cooed into the slack cat's face. Hairy had gone limp, as she always did in Millicent's presence. No one pampered a cat like she did, and Hairy knew how to elicit the most scratches and treats from her.

"She got me into trouble today," Draco said. "You both did." he sipped his Firewhiskey and tried not to think too hard about it.

"Oh no," Millicent stifled a laugh. "You didn't call her by name in front of the Weasels, did you?"

"I did," he said.

"I'm sorry," she snickered again. "I guess my little joke backfired."

"It's not your fault," he sighed. "I could have changed her name."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, stroking the cat's belly.

"I don't know," he lied.

Draco knocked back the rest of his drink and strode to the bedroom. He brought back the T-shirt and the letter.

"You're leaving today?" Millicent asked.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "I need to get back over to that greengrocer's to see if I can get anything out of his old boss."

"Good luck," Millicent stood and cuddled Hairy close to her chest. "I'll give her lots of treats. Check in when you can, okay?" she dropped a kiss onto Draco's cheek and stepped through the Floo.

She was out of Draco's mind an instant later. He slipped the T-shirt on and pulled a light button-down over the top so he wouldn't appear to be wearing the same thing twice. He then pocketed the letter and focused his mind on the Muggle shop from the day before.

With a squeeze and a pop he was there, just outside in a small cul-de-sac he'd spotted on his last visit. He patted his short blond hair into place and went straight to the produce department.

His mind was sharp, searching for any whiff of Harry's magic. Everything he had interacted with was signatured by his touch, just like everyone else. The trick to Tracking was to learn what that signature felt like, what it smelled and tasted like, and to pick it out among the noise.

The grocery store held almost no trace anymore. In eight months any residue of his presence had been worn down to virtually nothing. That didn't mean the trail was cold, however. Draco was too skilled to be stopped by something as minor as no signature. There were ways of picking it up again, if one was sensitive enough. But better than that was a personal contact. It was possible that Harry's old boss could connect him directly to his quarry, and that would save both time and effort.

"Hello, I'm looking for the produce manager," Draco said to a young man who was stacking apples. "Is she in? I was told she might be able to put me in touch with a former employee named Harry Potter."

No recognition of the name registered on the boy's face, but he did go into the back to deliver his message. A moment later a heavy-set woman in her mid-thirties appeared at the swinging door and invited him to her office. He followed her through the produce cooler and sat in the offered chair in her tiny, cluttered office.

"I'm Diane," she said. "Harry worked for me for two months."

"Do you know where he is now?" Draco asked hopefully.

"He hasn't worked here in quite some time," she sat back in her chair. "So I'm guessing you haven't been in touch in a long time."

"We haven't," Draco said. "We were friends in school and I've been trying to find him."

"Ah," Diane regarded him suspiciously. "And what did you say your name is?"

"Ron Weasley. He was my best mate in school."

"Here's the problem, Ron," she leaned forward and laced her fingers together. "Harry told me he was in trouble. He said he had fallen in with a bad crowd and needed to get away, make a clean break. He told me his old friends might come looking for him, and I promised him that I wouldn't tell them where he went."

"Have you talked to him recently?" Draco asked. "It's been a long time. He might not still feel that way."

"He sublets a flat from me," she smirked. "So yes, we've spoken recently."

Draco quickly dashed out and probed her mind while she was thinking of the flat. There it was, clear as day, easy enough to Apparate from that image if necessary. He smiled in return, knowing she hadn't detected a thing. As far as he knew, he was the only Tracker in England who was also a Legilimens. It was what gave him his edge.

"What I can do is call him and ask him if I can tell you where he is," Diane was saying as she fished a cell phone out of her pocket. She dialed and rotated in her chair in an ineffective show of privacy.

Draco reached into her mind again and shamelessly eavesdropped on her conversation. Piggybacking inside of her head meant he could hear Harry's voice as clearly as she could. When Harry answered Draco found himself overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity, so much so that he almost lost his connection with Diane.

"How are things, Harry?" Diane asked warmly.

"I'm well, how are you?" Harry's voice was equally warm "I haven't forgotten the rent, have I?"

"No, of course not," she chuckled. "Listen, I have a very handsome lad in here who's asking about you. Says you were mates in school. Quite fit, seems very interested in reconnecting." Her voice dropped with implication. Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. What was the point of speaking in code when it was that obvious?"

Harry was quiet for a moment. Draco could hear the sound of traffic behind him and tried to focus on his location. Unfortunately Tracking didn't work over muggle phone connections.

"What's his name?" Harry asked softly.

"Ron Weasley."

"Oh," Harry infused that one syllable with complex layers of sorrow. "No, he's not an ex, if that's what you're thinking."

"I take it you don't want me to give him your number?" Diane peeked over her shoulder at Draco.

"No," Harry's voice was almost a whisper. "Please don't. Tell him I'm very sorry. Tell him I miss him but I just can't."

"Okay, dear," Diane said. "Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Thank you."

"Are you meeting us for pints on Saturday?" she asked, unconcerned that Draco was waiting behind her.

"We'll see," Harry's voice brightened. "I'll let you know. I have to get back inside so we can close up."

"Okay then, take care of yourself," she said, then they said goodbye and disconnected. Draco quickly retracted from her mind and smiled ruefully.

"I take it that's a no?" he asked.

"No, sorry," she pocketed her phone. "He's been through a lot. I don't know if you know about it. He doesn't say much but I can tell it's heavy. Best to not press him too hard."

"I understand," Draco nodded. He thanked her for her help and showed himself out.

If only it was as simple as leaving him alone the way he wanted to be left alone. Diane was right, in any other situation the best option would be to not pressure him. But that was an option Harry didn't have. If Hermione and Ron were correct, if Harry was no longer using magic, he was a ticking bomb with very little time left.

Draco didn't hesitate. As soon as he was out on the sidewalk he headed straight for the cul-de-sac and focused his mind on the flat he'd plucked from Diane's mind. Harry had said he was closing up, so surely there was time to have a look around before he got home. Time Draco could use to figure out how to approach him. He closed his eyes and Disapparated straight away.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco found himself in a strange space, small and open with every room combined into one. The bed was in one corner, a muggle telly was in another, a tiny kitchenette was in a third, and a door that likely led to the water closet was in the fourth. One wall was entirely lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, which looked out onto the city beyond. The view was breathtaking, but the lack of drapes made it feel particularly exposed.

The bed was unmade, there were dishes in the sink, a stack of magazines cascaded across the floor, and dust bunnies gathered along the baseboards. It was nothing that a couple of cleaning charms couldn't handle, though clearly there were no cleaning charms being employed here. In the corner between the bed and the window a glass terrarium contained a small white lizard. A skink, if Draco wasn't mistaken.

But Draco had no room in his brain to think about the lizards and dusty floors. He was presently overwhelmed by the flood of magical residue that was impregnated into every object in the flat, the powerful signature of a wizard who had tried to stopper up his skill and was now seeping from every pore.

Draco reeled in stunned revelation as the satiny sweet feel and taste of Harry's magic rolled over him like the tide. It enveloped him, crept up his spine and trailed down his arms. It slipped between his legs and caressed his groin. He grasped the wall and steadied himself, employing his training in Occlumency to barricade his mind against the influx.

Hermione and Ron weren't wrong. Harry was a very powerful wizard indeed. He was oozing magic, splitting at the seams from the log jam inside of him. He had plugged the exhaust of a running engine, and if he didn't release the pressure it would eventually tear him apart from within.

He had to quickly decide what to do before Harry could return home and find his former school rival waiting for him in his flat. No, this was the wrong way to meet him. He needed neutral ground. He Disapparated to the sidewalk outside and checked around to make sure no one had seen him. He could feel Harry's signature out here, too. He was seeping magic everywhere he went, leaving sopping wet footprints that a Tracker of Draco's calibre could follow with his eyes closed. Hell, Harry was leaving such a strong trail that Draco suspected even a Squib could sense it.

He headed down the road, bobbing along in Harry's wake. He found the cafe where he probably stopped for morning coffee, and immediately noted it as a high casualty location. If Harry's magic were to reach critical pressure here, he could take as many as a dozen muggles out with him. He tracked Harry's trail down into the Tube, Apparated past the turnstile and hopped on a train that was moving in the same direction as Harry's magic. The train itself was devoid of his signature, but Draco could catch a whiff of it from the tunnel, like scent on the wind. He rode for several stops until a platform appeared that utterly reeked of Harry's essence. He hopped off and ascended to street level.

The trail was hot now, leading across the street and straight into a bookstore. Draco didn't need to go inside to know that Harry was in there now. His magic curled around the entrance like smoke, radiated through the windows like heat. It was satiny and sweet and far more dangerous than it let on.

Draco stood on the opposite side of the road, tucked into the shadow of a bus shelter as the sun slowly slid below the city skyline. In the deepening evening light he could see into the brightly lit store interior, as employees in tidy black aprons shelved books and dusted shelves. He waited patiently, utterly certain that Harry would appear.

As that thought flitted through Draco's mind, Harry stepped in front of the window, wheeling out a long contraption with a line attached to the wall. He pushed it back and forth across the floor and shouted happily to his coworkers over the noise. Draco suspected it was some kind of cleaning machine, but he didn't have much interest in contemplating the machine because oh Merlin there was Harry Potter, right in front of him, for the first time in six years.

His breath left his body in a long sigh as he took in the sight of him. Harry was taller than he remembered, possibly a bit taller than Draco. He was broad, so much more than he had been in school. No longer the slender Seeker physique, his body had filled out and hardened, a quality that was visible even through his fitted white short-sleeve button-down shirt and black apron. As he pushed the cleaning machine back and forth his bicep flexed and relaxed, creating a bulging rhythm that was a pacemaker for Draco's pulse.

When he smiled, he smiled brilliantly. He smiled sincerely and joyfully, without the awkward, conflicted angst that had plagued him, and frankly everyone else, as a teenager. He looked happy. Draco winced as he realized the odds of that scintillating smile being directed at him were virtually nil.

One of his coworkers must have made a joke because Harry threw his head back and laughed. The satiny sweet smoke of his magic billowed and spread, then receded as he went back to cleaning. Draco felt as though his hair had been blown back by the swell.

A few minutes later the lights shut off and the four bookstore employees took their leave. They hung their aprons and exited by the front door, and the last one out secured the locks. Draco marveled that the locks were engaged by hand, and no one raised a wand to set protective wards.

He ducked behind the bus shelter as Harry and his three coworkers crossed the street directly towards him. Even in hiding he could locate Harry by the strength of the magic that was radiating off of him. It rolled over Draco's body and washed away as Harry swept down the street with his friends.

His voice was merry, a rich baritone with a confident lilt that Draco remembered from school. As much as he had changed that quality was the same, which Draco found oddly comforting. He waited until they descended to the Tube to follow behind and kept a safe distance as they waited for the next train. Harry's magic coiled around him and held him fast as they boarded one car ahead of Draco's. And when they exited, his magic coaxed Draco off at their stop.

They walked a block and entered a pub together, leaving Draco to decide whether he should enter, too. He was much more likely to be spotted indoors. He had no polyjuice on him to conceal his identity, and he'd foolishly given the invisibility cloak back to Hermione. Even a hat to conceal his distinctive white blond hair would help.

He scanned the street and spotted a small newsstand with a rack of umbrellas, hats, and scarves, undoubtedly for unprepared tourists who had expected sunny skies in London. He crossed the street and casually Accioed a simple cap that would mostly shield his hair and eyes from view.

"You going to pay for that?" the shopkeeper asked as Draco turned to leave.

Draco gave him a withering look and Obliviated the memory of his transaction before continuing on his way. He didn't bother dwelling on the theft. He'd come a long way from his upbringing, so he was comfortable forgiving himself for the occasional transgression.

The pub was crowded and dark, and loud enough to make Draco want to retreat to the sidewalk. But back in the far corner he could see Harry with his friends and of course that meant he would stay. He ordered a pint and approached the occupied booth that was directly beside Harry's. With a quick flick the occupants realized they had business elsewhere and departed. Draco smiled to himself and sat, leaning against the high wooden seat back with Harry on the other side. He sipped his pint and thought about how close they were, if not for the slender barrier between them.

Harry's magic welled over the top of the booth and flooded across the floor. Draco hardly had to concentrate to pick it out above the clutter of everyone else's essences. It was like a growing ooze, like soft, rising bread dough, like too much cologne. It enveloped everything and seeped into every corner, satiny and sweet and alluring. Draco noted the pub as another high casualty location. If he went off here, it would be very, very bad.

It was difficult to hear, so Draco employed one of the only pieces of spy gear he was willing to use, having mostly decided years ago that spy gear was amateurish and beneath him. But in cases like this he needed help. He conjured his Extendable Ear and laid the string out along the bench seat, tucking the listening end just around the edge so it was pointed at Harry's table. Now he could eavesdrop easily.

"-Desperate for a shag," one of the girls was saying.

"I'm sure you could find someone here who would be willing to oblige," another girl said. The group laughed at the suggestion.

"Get Harry pissed enough and maybe he'll oblige," the third girl said. They laughed even harder.

"I don't think there's enough lager in the world," Harry moaned humorously.

"I tried to convert a boy once," the second girl said. "He was willing to try but he couldn't keep it up, if you know what I mean."

"I already know from experience that I couldn't," Harry said with false dismay. The girls all laughed again.

Draco took a big swallow from his pint. A group of three patrons walked up to his table and asked him if he was alone, with just a touch of annoyance. He sneered at them and wordlessly sent them away. Muggles were too easy.

"No, no plans for the weekend," Harry was saying. "I've got a standing invitation for drinks with my landlord and her friends on Saturday but I'm not feeling much like going out right now."

"Are you okay?" the first girl asked. "You've been acting kind of rundown lately."

"Been feeling a bit off, yeah," Harry sighed. "Kind of fluey, just not myself."

Draco's stomach went cold. Harry's magic was seeping at a dramatic rate, and he seemed totally unaware of the risk. If he was feeling unwell, it didn't bode well for him or anyone around him. He didn't have much time left. He silently cursed Hermione and Ron and Hogwarts and the entire Wizarding community for not teaching their poor muggle-raised savior about the risks of stifling his magic.

He snapped back to the present as Harry bid his coworkers goodnight and slid out from the booth. Draco scrambled to retract and pocket his Extendible Ear and tugged his hat down over his eyes. Harry hugged one of the girls and turned to leave, accidentally bumping Draco's table with his hip as he did.

"Sorry, mate," Harry dropped a hand onto Draco's shoulder as he steadied the wobbling table.

"No problem," Draco said, keeping his head tipped down.

Harry paused for just a moment, his fingers lingering on Draco's shoulder for just a breath longer than they should have. Draco thought about Hermione and Ron's warning that he was powerful now, and certainly the intense overflow that sheeted off of him supported that opinion. He wondered whether Harry possessed any innate Tracking ability, too, and whether he could taste Draco's essence through his fingertips.

But in the next breath he was gone, pushing through the crowd to the door, and then he was out into the night.

Draco's heart pounded. It had been just a fraction of a second of hesitation, but Draco knew with certainty that his cover had been nearly blown.


	5. Chapter 5

"Don't mind me, I'm just passing through," Draco stumbled into the kitchen and waved the house elf away before she could greet him merrily. He poured himself a cup of tea and flopped down at the kitchen table to drink.

He was tense, anxious even. He had no time to consider how to best approach Harry. If he didn't confront him now and make him realize the danger he faced, there might not be another chance.

He dressed quickly and checked his hair in the mirror three times, somewhat concerned about making a good first impression. After so many years, he hoped to strike Harry the way Harry had struck him.

He wore the blue t-shirt with the burgundy West Ham shield on the breast with a gray button-down over the top. He didn't need the T-shirt anymore, nor the letter to Ron and Hermione, but he wanted to hold onto them anyway. Stowing his wand up his sleeve, he readied himself for the challenge ahead and Disapparated.

He arrived in the shadow of the same bus shelter he'd hidden behind the day before. A quick Obliviate took care of the two women sitting on the bench who had seen him arrive, then he took a breath and crossed the road.

The neighborhood was busy, with lots of tourists and lots of cars and lots of shops and diners lining the street. Draco paused under the awning of the bookstore and braced himself. The satiny sweet smoke of Harry's magic permeated the building and he knew it would be overwhelming when he entered. He peeked through the front door but didn't immediately see him. Still, his Tracker senses knew better than his eyes. Harry was in.

He pushed through the door and nearly staggered back from the blast of residual magic that covered him like scattershot. He quickly regained his composure and slipped down the nearest aisle to get his bearings.

"Brilliant. I can ring you up over here," Harry's baritone voice rang out across the store. The left wall of the store was dominated by a checkout counter and registers. The back of the store had a tiny coffee counter. The rest was filled with rows and rows of bookshelves. Draco wove his way through the stacks until he found a good vantage point from the cookbook section.

Harry was wearing another fitted white short-sleeve button-down with a black apron over the top. His dark hair was trimmed short around the back and sides, with a bit of sideburn descending in front of his ears. The top of his head was messy and spiky and roguishly uneven. His dark framed glasses were better sized to complement his face than they had been in school, but they were still the familiar round shape that were so distinctively his style. He smiled at the customer and seemed genuinely pleased to be helping her. Draco rolled his eyes. Ever the Gryffindor. When he was done bagging her selections, he scooped up an armful of discarded books and started reshelving them.

Draco glanced over his shoulder but there only appeared to be one other employee working, the one behind the coffee counter. His heart pounded as he realized there was no turning back. There would be no exiting the store without being seen. Ready or not, he was about to meet Harry for the first time in six years.

He felt the advancing pressure wave of his magic before he heard his feet. He was coming this way. Draco snatched the first book in front of him and leafed randomly to the middle, as though he just happened to be browsing.

Harry rounded the corner just then, finger tracing over the title of a soon-to-be reshelved book. He glanced up with a polite customer service smile, which instantly transformed into a rictus of pure shock.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, his hands frozen.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said politely. His blood thumped in his ears and his knees were weak.

"What are you doing here?" Harry's eyes were wide and unblinking.

"Just reading up on," Draco looked down at the book in his hands, "chicken pot pie."

"Chicken pot pie," Harry repeated.

"Yes," Draco set the book back on the shelf. "Turns out my technique is as good as theirs, so I don't suppose I need a book after all."

"What are you talking about?" Harry shook himself out of his stupor. His brow furrowed in pained confusion.

"I need to speak with you," Draco cut to the chase. There was no point in pretending this was a coincidental meeting.

"How did you find me?" Harry glanced over his head at the girl behind the coffee counter. "You can't be here."

"I'm not planning on blowing your cover," Draco said. "But I do need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you," Harry said suddenly, taking a step back. His posture wasn't hostile, it was fearful.

"I'm not here to attack you," Draco tried not to sound annoyed. "I was sent by Granger and Weasley to find you and tell you something."

"Why did they send you? Why didn't they just come find me themselves?" Harry paused his retreat.

"Because you're a very good hider."

"Then how did you find me?"

"I'm a very good seeker," Draco's smirked.

Harry smiled back, catching the double meaning. He caught himself and looked away, his hands busy with the remaining stack of books. He glanced over at his coworker again and sighed.

"Let me get the rest of these shelved," he said. "Meet me outside."

Draco nodded and brushed past him towards the front door. The slight contact sent ripples of goosebumps up his arm. He didn't need his eyes or his Tracker sense to know that Harry turned and watched him walk away.

He waited for Harry on the bench in the bus shelter and watched crowds of muggles swarm by. Harry was mad if he thought he could ever be one of them. While these people went about their days, powerless and dull, Harry shone like a brilliant star. One that was about to go supernova if Draco didn't get through to him in time.

Harry exited the bookstore, his apron removed and his hands jammed into his charcoal gray trouser pockets. He crossed with only a cursory glance at traffic and sat next to Draco on the bench.

"Not here," he said softly. He glanced over, his expression miserable. "I assume you were the one who asked Diane to call me yesterday, not Ron."

"I wouldn't expect you to take a call from Draco Malfoy," Draco said wryly.

"It makes sense now," Harry nodded. "I was a bit confused when she said very handsome, when Ron is a bit of an acquired taste."

"Oh behave," Draco said mildly. But inside his stomach fluttered. Was he saying that it made sense to call him very handsome?

"If you found Diane and this place, I assume you also know where I live," Harry said.

"I do."

"Then let's go," Harry held out his hand. "We might as well Apparate."

"No," Draco jumped to his feet. "Uh, I mean, there are too many people. We'll take the Tube." He needed to ease Harry into the realization of his impending doom.

Harry shrugged and led him to the station entrance. He swiped through the turnstile and turned in surprise as Draco Apparated past the barrier. Harry cleared his throat and scratched his nose.

"Been a while since I've seen anyone do that," he muttered.

"Come on," Draco waved him along.

They boarded the train and stood near the door, each holding onto the same pole. Now that they were standing in close proximity Draco's head had to swim against the current of Harry's magic. It filled his lungs and his ears and saturated his tongue with smoky sweetness. He sagged against Harry's shoulder as vertigo overwhelmed him.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked in Draco's ear.

"Nothing," Draco straightened his posture and shook his head to clear his mind. He wasn't intentionally Tracking anymore, but his magic had latched onto Harry's signal and he found it difficult to disengage.

Harry frowned and peered at him. "Are you sick?"

"No," Draco said. "Just a bit tired."

"Me too," Harry sighed. He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "'I'm not feeling well lately."

"That's sort of why I'm here," Draco said as the train pulled into Harry's station. "Let's go, this is your stop."

Harry looked up in surprise and gave him a withering look. They exited and went up to street level, then Harry led Draco in the proper entrance of his building rather than popping inside.

"I realize it won't live up to your standards," Harry opened the door and swept his arms around to encompass the small space. He dunked his keys in a bowl by the kitchenette and kicked his shoes off. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Draco sat on the sofa beneath the wall of windows. He struggled to maintain his composure as he was pummeled on all sides by Harry's magic. It practically puffed out of the cushions when he leaned back.

Harry puttered quietly around the kitchenette, doing every task by hand, and Draco couldn't help staring in wonder. Why would someone willingly wash a dish manually? Harry looked up and caught Draco staring.

"You think I'm mad, don't you?" he asked with a smile.

"I've always thought you were mad," Draco said. He looked around the room at the cluttered surfaces and nodded at the lizard cage on the floor. "I've never seen a white skink before."

"Neither had I," Harry said, bringing two cups over and sitting next to him. "But as soon as I saw him I had to have him." He nodded at Draco's uniquely pale hair, "You'd make a good match, you're practically the same color."

"What's his name?" Draco asked as he took a sip of his tea. Not enough sugar.

"Dragon," Harry said, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Draco spluttered and set his cup down before he could spill. He looked cockeyed at Harry. "Dragon."

"Not because of you," Harry said quickly, his cheeks burning brighter. A wave of repressed magic rolled off of him and hit Draco square in the chest.

"Well I wasn't going to suggest that, but now I'm suspicious," Draco said, retrieving his cup.

"Merlin," Harry rubbed his eyes again. He looked positively fatigued.

"Listen," Draco set his cup down again. "I know I'm the last person you want to talk to right now, but I need you to hear me out. There's something you need to know."

"Malfoy," Harry shook his head. "It's been years-"

"Listen to me," Draco interrupted him. "Your life is in danger and you're about to die. And when you do, you might kill everyone around you."

Harry stared at him in shock.

"Do I have your complete attention?" Draco asked. "I'm here because Ron and Hermione sent me. They're worried about you, and rightfully so. You've stopped doing magic and that's an incredibly dangerous thing to do. If you don't start using it again it will back up on you and destroy you."

Harry continued to stare. "That's why you're here?"

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Why did you think I was here?"

"I thought-" Harry shook his head. "Never mind."

"Magic is an active thing, Potter," Draco continued. "It doesn't just lie dormant until you need it. If you don't use it, the pressure builds up. It's like bottling up steam. At some point it's going to blow. And someone as powerful as you are could blow catastrophically."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the teacup in his hand.

"People who grow up in the Wizarding community know about it so well that no one really talks about it. No one thought to teach you, I guess."

"So I'm a hostage to it?" Harry set his teacup down with a thud. "I have to use magic or I'll die?"

"Sort of," Draco shrugged. "I've never heard of someone giving it up completely before so I've never thought of it that way."

Harry ran his hand through his hair and swore under his breath. He stood and paced two steps away and then two steps back.

"It would be like deciding you don't want blood to circulate in your veins anymore," Draco added. "It's as natural a function as that."

"Is this why I've been feeling sick?" Harry looked down at him. His hands were braced on his hips, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders.

"Yes," Draco nodded.

"So what do I have to do?" Harry asked. "I'm not going back, so can I just do a spell here and there and release the pressure?" He waved his hand at the kitchen in a wandless cleaning gesture.

"No, don't!" Draco jumped up and seized his wrist but it was too late. The spell leapt from Harry's fingers like a shotgun blast and laid waste to the dishes in the sink. Powdered ceramic residue fluttered down to coat the countertop.

Harry's jaw dropped as he took in the carnage. He looked down at his hand in horror. Then he looked at Draco's hand in horror. Then Draco looked at his hand in horror. His left pinkie and ring finger were gone.

"Fuck," Draco's knees buckled. Harry caught him and laid him out on the sofa, then ran for the loo. He came back with bandages and tape and gauze and alcohol and knelt at Draco's side.

"You'll be okay," Harry hissed through his teeth as he wrapped the bloodless wound. The force of the blast had cauterized the flesh and left a clean pair of nubs.

"Fuck," Draco said again as the pain started to set in. Harry gripped his wrist tightly as he wrapped his hand in gauze and taped the dressing in place. "You don't even have any numbing potion?" he whimpered.

"No," Harry's face was ravaged with guilt. At any other time Draco would have teased him for such a Gryffindorian display. But for now he was in pain and desperately needed something to stop it.

He shoved Harry aside and clutched his hand to his chest as he staggered to his feet. He closed his eyes and whispered a steadying charm and felt a sweet, temporary relief descend over him. It would at least bolster his concentration enough to Disapparate home.

Harry was still on his knees, staring up at him in awe. He watched Draco take a cleansing breath and push the pain and panic aside. Draco looked down at him grimly.

"Don't go anywhere," he said. "And don't do any more magic until I get back." And in the next breath he Disapparated.


	6. Chapter 6

Two hours later Draco returned to Harry's flat with two pink newly regrown fingers and renewed determination. The magic residue hit him as soon as he Apparated and he involuntarily gasped as the feel and taste of it returned. Harry jumped up and switched off the telly as soon as Draco arrived, then seized Draco's left hand and inspected his fingers closely.

"Do they hurt?" he asked.

"No, they're just sensitive," Draco suppressed a shiver as Harry traced lines on his new skin.

"I'm sorry," Harry looked up and released Draco's hand. "I didn't know it would be so violent."

"No wandless magic," Draco said firmly. "You have to release the pressure slowly or you'll destroy yourself. Wandless magic is too much when you're this backed up. You need to do small charms, first year stuff. Go get your wand and transfigure a match into a needle, that sort of thing."

"You're mad," Harry stared at him.

"I'm not," Draco said. "I may be a prat, but I'm not mad," he smiled wryly.

Harry's eyes focused on Draco's mouth for a moment. Finally he looked up into his eyes, his irises as intensely green as ever. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't have a wand anymore."

"You can't be serious."

"I am," Harry said. "I got rid of it."

"How could you do something so bloody stupid?" Draco snapped.

"I gave up magic, Malfoy," Harry said as though it were obvious.

"Then you put it in a box on the shelf," Draco pointed sharply at the windowsill. "You don't get rid of it."

"I don't want it anymore," Harry scowled. "I don't want anything to do with magic anymore. Not even a wand in my flat." The swirling, seeping magic curled in darkening eddies, taking on a slightly burned taste.

"Is that why you didn't even take your parents' photo with you?" Draco asked, his tone intentionally sharp. "When you broke your best friends' hearts by leaving them forever, you also left your memory of your parents, too."

"That's right, I left everything," Harry said. "Don't assume it was easy." His magic swelled and loomed over them both.

"Potter," Draco stepped back. "Calm down. You're leaking magic and I don't want to get caught in the backlash."

"I'm what?" Harry's anger dried up in an instant. "You can feel it?"

"Yes," Draco sighed in relief as the swell retreated. "I'm a Tracker. That's how I found you. Your magical signature is huge, and it's getting bigger by the minute. I don't think you have much time left."

"And what happens when I run out of time?" Harry asked.

Draco swallowed hard and was reluctant to tell him the truth. His eyes roved the room, looking at everything except his former school rival.

"Draco," Harry said softly. "What's going to happen to me?"

Draco's eyes landed on the white skink's cage. The one Harry had named Dragon. He sighed and met Harry's gaze. "You'll explode. You'll die. And anyone standing near you may die, too."

"I see," Harry nodded. "Okay then," he grabbed a jacket from the coat rack and smiled weakly at Draco. "Thanks for your help, Malfoy. Would have been nice to have time to catch up with you."

"Wait, where are you going?" Draco was alarmed. This sounded suspiciously like a goodbye. "Just hold on a tick."

"I don't have a tick," Harry said sadly. "Bye, then."

"Wait!" Draco lunged for Harry, but it was too late.

In a thunderous crack Harry Disapparated, splitting space and time in a massive rift that caught Draco's lunging arm and sucked him in. For a terrifying moment that hung between seconds Draco realized he had been pulled into Harry's wake without a destination fixed in his mind's eye. He opened his mouth to scream but had no mouth. He had no eyes, no hands, no feet, no body. He was between realities.

Then just as quickly as it began, Draco was ejected from the in-between nothingness and was thrown to the ground in a crumpled heap like discarded paper. He landed hard, the wind knocked out of him and his ankle shattered. He couldn't even draw in enough air to scream. Everything swam and went dark.

"Enervate," a baritone voice filled Draco's ears and brought him back to consciousness.

He opened his eyes and saw Harry leaning over him, Draco's own hawthorn wand in his hand as he gently touched Draco's temple. He tried not to flinch as the stimulating spell jolted through him with more strength than usually intended. Harry then moved down to his ankle and healed the bone. The fragments forcefully stitched themselves together with a wrenching pain that drew a cry from Draco's throat.

"Sorry," Harry winced. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Draco said, finally noticing their surroundings. They were in a forest, surrounded by tall trees and rocky outcroppings. The air was cool, so Draco guessed they were at a higher elevation than London. "Where are we?"

"Can you sit up?" Harry helped him to rise. "How does your leg feel?"

"It's fine, thank you," Draco noticed that these woods were not impregnated with Harry's magic signature. With only the immediate overflow wafting off of him, he wasn't nearly as overwhelmed. "Why are we here?"

"I don't know how you got here," Harry said. "I didn't mean for you to come with me."

"I told you not to Disapparate," Draco dusted himself off. "Potter, stop dodging the question."

"It's just a place I like to come to," Harry said evasively.

"Potter."

"You're going to say something nasty," Harry moved away and rubbed his neck.

"If you're going to tell me you came out here to die without hurting anyone you're damn right I'm going to say something nasty," Draco snapped.

"No," Harry rolled his eyes. "I buried my wand out here."

Draco gave him a withering look. "Not quite as bad, but still breathtakingly daft."

"I gave up magic," Harry said again.

"Then put it on a shelf!" Draco shouted again.

"You don't get it," Harry waved his hand and walked away, his feet crunching through the deadfall as he made his way downhill towards a small stream.

"You're right, I don't," Draco followed him. "What could possibly be so awful that you would quit magic entirely?"

"You don't understand what it was like," Harry called over his shoulder. "First that Boy who Lived crap, then Tom Riddle this and Voldemort that, then maybe I'm only being kept alive to be slaughtered, then having to live up to the false bloody notion that I saved the world, then expected to be Harry Potter Auror Extraordinaire. And none of it was my choosing, every decision was made for me by everyone else."

"You don't think I understand what it's like to have others make choices for me?" Draco scoffed as he followed Harry along the bank of the stream.

"Not like me," Harry stopped and looked around, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't think I'm in the right place."

"Not like you?" Draco grabbed Harry's shoulder and spun him around. "Do you honestly believe that? Do you honestly, after all this time, still subscribe to the idea that I was just an evil prat who, at the ripe old age of sixteen, was capable of making those kinds of choices?"

"We all made choices at sixteen," Harry yanked his arm out of Draco's grasp. "I'm not trying to fight with you, Malfoy. I'm just telling you why I left."

"And I'm trying to tell you that you're not the only one who suffered," Draco said. "But you're the only one who left."

"Leave off, Malfoy," Harry muttered. He walked upstream again.

"Have you met Granger and Weasel's baby?" Draco called. "Or did you put your own selfish needs ahead of theirs?"

"Don't talk about them," Harry whirled around and pointed angrily at Draco. An intense wash of magic rolled over him, nearly knocking him back a step. He was treading in dangerous waters but it needed to be said.

"You last saw them eight months ago," Draco pulled Harry's letter out of his pocket with a sneer. "You left this whinging, whining note and abandoned your best friends just when they were expecting their first child. She can't be more than six months old, Potter. You didn't even wait two months to meet her."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry shouted. The satiny sweet swell of magic took on a singed coppery edge and smacked him in the chest like a physical strike. Draco staggered back again and held his hands up in concession.

"Okay, let's just calm down," he said. He folded up the letter and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Harry turned away and continued his search. They were silent, Harry hunting for familiar terrain, Draco following. They walked well up the length of the riverbed before finally stopping for a rest. Harry's stomach growled audibly.

"I didn't think I would forget where I buried it," he said. "I didn't bring any supplies."

"Don't Disapparate again," Draco said. "You'll either kill me or whoever is around where you arrive." He looked around to fix the location in his mind. "Wait here."

**oOo**

Draco popped back home and threw food and water and other supplies into a bag. After a moment's thought he added a few healing salves and potions, then finally dropped in a bottle of Firewhiskey. Bidding the house elves farewell again he DIsapparated back to the forest.

When he landed he found himself standing in a pile of rubble. He looked around but the area appeared different from when he left. Several boulders that littered the ground had been smashed into shards and fragments. Harry was standing ankle-deep in the stream, swishing his hands through the water.

"What happened?" Draco dropped his bag.

"I tried wandless magic again," Harry looked up with a grimace. "I thought I could control the damage out here." He held up his bleeding hands and showed the deep lacerations that crisscrossed his palms.

He bent over again and went back to irrigating his wounds. Just then his glasses slipped down his nose and fell from his face. He scrambled to catch them but they slipped through his injured fingers and plunged into the water.

"Shit," he cursed. "Accio glasses!"

A mass of rocky debris with his glasses caught up in the center hurled itself at him. He threw his arms up as the rocks and muck pummeled him around the head and shoulders. His glasses fell back into the water and were lost in the swirl.

Draco jumped into the stream and searched for the lost spectacles. He splashed with the current but could see no sign of them. He called out, "Accio glasses!" and well downriver they burst from the water and flew to his hand.

Harry stared at him, covered in river mud with pebbles in his hair, hands still raw and bleeding. Draco knew what he was thinking. In their youth Draco would have been more likely to laugh at his loss, or even go out of his way to crush the glasses himself. Help was not expected.

Draco slowly raised his wand and leveled it at his former rival. Harry watched him nervously, his hands useless and his magic too powerful to risk any defensive moves. His eyes locked onto the tip of the hawthorn wand and he waited.

"Scourgify," Draco said, and instantly Harry was clean. He sloshed over to him and offered his glasses. When Harry held up his hands to show that he couldn't hold them, Draco gently slid them onto Harry's face and resettled them across his nose. He paused with his hands above Harry's ears as his magic swirled in silky sweet rivulets around his body and between his legs. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the caress but instead he stepped back and took Harry by the elbow to lead him out of the water.

He cast a warm air spell, first to dry Harry and then himself. Once that was done he searched his bag for a healing potion that would fix Harry's hands.

"Come here," he said, drawing Harry over to a large flat boulder so they could sit. He dabbed some of the healing salve on Harry's left palm and massaged it in. When the cuts were closed he massaged the salve into his right hand.

He looked up to declare him healed but the words evaporated on his tongue. Harry was staring at him. He parted his lips as though to ask a question, but said nothing. His magic swirled around them both, billowing across the forest floor, slithering around Draco's body and filling his lungs with smokiness. He was lightheaded, awash in Harry's essence and still holding his healed hand in his lap.

Draco was helpless against the draw of Harry's magic. He leaned in, his breath shaky and his stomach turning flip flops. The point of Harry's tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. Draco tilted his head and hesitated, their faces so close that he could feel Harry's breath on his cheek. Harry's fingers curled, encircling Draco's hand and drawing him closer. They hovered just a hair's breadth apart, neither one brave enough to close the distance. Draco tilted his head again, trying to show his willingness. But if Harry didn't meet him in the middle, did it mean he didn't want to? Harry stroked his thumb over Draco's hand and smiled, the tip of his nose brushing Draco's.

Draco chickened out. He ducked his head, too afraid to touch Harry's lips with his own, six years of pent up desire crumbling under the fear of rejection. Harry's eyes remained locked on his as he retreated, his magic tugging at Draco as though reluctant to let go. Draco searched for something to say, something to distract himself from what he wasn't brave enough to do.

"Why did you leave?" he asked softly, partly to ground himself.

Harry withdrew his hand, and his magic withdrew with it. He squinted at the stream and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Because I don't want to be me anymore," he said finally, his voice so fragile that Draco wanted to draw him into his arms.

"You're not that bad, Potter," Draco said instead. "And that's saying a lot coming from me."

Harry snickered gently and stared down at his fingers. "I never had any choice. Who knows who I could have been?"

"I've often wondered the same thing about myself." Draco said.

"Maybe I should be asking you why you didn't leave," Harry said, looking up at Draco with sincere curiosity.

Draco considered his question seriously for a moment. He had suffered, that was certain. He had seen things and done things that no one should have to experience. He'd endured more Cruciatus Curses than anyone his age should have endured. He still suffered nightmares from the memories. But he'd never considered leaving the Wizarding community.

"Because I love magic," he said finally. "And even though I can't change my past, I can change my future."

Harry dropped his head and gazed at his feet for a while. "You're different now," he said. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"You can be different, too, if that's what you want," Draco said. "No one can tell you who you are anymore."

"Tell that to my friends," Harry mumbled.

"I told my friends," Draco said. "Friends let you change. Anyone who doesn't isn't a friend." He sat back and eyed Harry appraisingly. "Do you know who my best friend is now? Millicent Bulstrode."

"Millicent?" Harry gawked in amazement.

"That's right. She's the best friend I've ever had. Who would have thought?" Draco said. "And you know who I'm not friends with anymore? Everyone else."

"Not Blaise or Pansy or Greg?" Harry asked.

"None of them," Draco said. "All of my friends are people I met after school. Even Millicent and I went our separate ways for two years before meeting up again and discovering we'd both changed."

Harry pondered that for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged. "I've been a selfish arse," he said.

"I won't argue that."

"What the hell have I done with my life?" Harry buried his face in his hands. "I've lost my friends. I've lost my wand, I'm about to be blown up by my own magic, and I'm getting life advice from Draco Malfoy."

"Things could be worse," Draco patted his shoulder and stood. "You could be in Potions class."


	7. Chapter 7

Draco dug around in his bag for something to eat before continuing their search. He could sense that Harry had eased a bit of pressure off, but didn't want to mention it and give him false hope. Besides, knowing all too well how his Gryffindor mind worked, he feared Harry would try more injurious wandless magic in an effort to normalize too quickly.

As evening settled in Harry announced that they were finally in a part of the forest that he recognized. He still couldn't remember exactly where he had buried his wand, but he was certain they were closer.

Draco suggested that they stop for the night and withdrew a thick folded square of fabric from his bag. With a flick and a twist the fabric sorted itself into a cozy peaked tent, complete with bedding inside. Next he Accioed some firewood and Incendioed a lovely, crackling fire. Harry hauled over two stumps to sit on, which Draco promptly Transfigured into a pair of Adirondack chairs.

"I have to admit, I do sort of miss that," Harry mused as they sat back and propped their feet up by the fire.

"Accio Firewhiskey," Draco called, then deftly snatched the bottle out of the air. He popped it open and took a swig before handing it over.

"Firewhiskey," Harry murmured. "It's been a while."

They made a simple supper from the supplies Draco had packed and drank in companionable silence as night fell around them. Draco was pleasantly relaxed, and surprisingly comfortable with the idea of camping out. If anything was evidence that change was possible, he thought, it was that.

"So what's keeping you from living how you want to live around other wizards," Draco asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

"Expectations," Harry said.

"Who says you have to live up to anyone's expectations?" Draco asked. "Especially people you don't know."

"I hear what you're saying," Harry took a drink, "but the people I know are just as bad."

"Granger has her hands full with her daughter now," Draco waved his hand dismissively. "She's too busy to mother you, too."

"I guess so," Harry chuckled. He stared into the fire for a while before speaking again. "What's she like?"

"A girl, named Rose, ginger hair," Draco ran out of information.

"I should have been there."

"Yes you should have."

Harry was quiet for another stretch. His magic was subdued, wafting gently around the firepit and the two chairs. Draco hoped he would be able to sleep in an enclosed space with it.

"What if I went back and told the Daily prophet to piss off?" he said slowly. "And what if I told the ministry that I don't want to be an Auror anymore? And what if I told Hermione that I'm capable of making my own decisions?"

"What if nothing, that's exactly what you're going to do," Draco said.

"And what if I want to be who I want to be, and maybe that's not always a nice person? And maybe I don't want to have to save anyone anymore."

"Then don't save anyone. And be a prat sometimes." Draco said.

"And what if," Harry stopped and shook his head.

"And what if what?"

"And what if I want to like whoever I like, and I want to be with whoever I want to be with, even if," he stopped again.

"Even if what?"

"Even if that person," he took a breath, "is a man?"

Draco's heart squeezed. Was that part of it? Did he feel like he could only be himself in the muggle world?

"Why not?" Draco said. "That's what I do."

Harry looked up and held his eyes. Draco knew he couldn't be surprised. Surely he realized how close Draco had come to kissing him just hours ago. Surely he remembered that day down at the lake, that fraction of a memory of fingers laced together. Or maybe he didn't, and Draco had been holding onto a memory that only mattered to him.

"I'm getting paid to bring you home," Draco blurted out. "My life debt paid if I save your life, and five hundred galleons to bring you home." He stared into the fire. "Just to be honest with you."

"Now that's a phrase I never expected to hear from Draco Malfoy," Harry snorted. He took another big swig off of the bottle. "Hermione and Ron are paying I assume."

"Yes. But I waived my actual fee for the Tracking part of the deal."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I wanted to find you," Draco wondered belatedly if he should have kept that to himself.

"Did you, now?" Harry smiled at the bonfire.

"I sort of put the idea in their heads," Draco went on, going for full honesty.

"But what's this about a life debt?" Harry asked, handing the bottle over.

"I owe you for saving my life in the Room of Requirement. And now I'm paying it off."

"You don't owe me," Harry said. "I didn't have the choice to either save you or leave you. I can't hold you in debt for something where there was no choice."

"You could have left me, anyone else would have," Draco said, turning the bottle in his hands.

"I'm not anyone else."

Draco gazed at the swirling amber liquid and thought his next question through carefully.

"Who saved me? The person you're supposed to be or the person you want to be?"

Harry looked up and studied Draco carefully. His magic rolled gently around him, tendrils licking up his arms and caressing his face. "The person I am."

Draco smiled and looked away. He hoped the warm firelight would mask the pink flush in his cheeks. He took another swig and passed the bottle back. They drank silently for a while longer until Draco felt a pressing need that couldn't be ignored.

"I need to go drain the basilisk," he said as he pushed himself to his feet.

Harry snorted indelicately and raised his eyebrows. "You what?"

"Think of all of the colorful magical euphemisms you'll miss out on if you don't come back," Draco said, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll be back in a jif."

"I need a slash, too," Harry said. They each chose a direction and stumbled off to find a suitable tree. Draco wasn't quite pissed, and didn't suppose Harry was, either, but he was nicely relaxed and a teensy bit wobbly.

He finished his business and buttoned up, then made his way back to the fire pit just as Harry was returning, too. Draco stood before the fire and made a few gestures to coax the logs together and goose the flames a bit.

He felt Harry's magic arrive ahead of Harry himself. The satiny sweet smoke of it mingled with the campfire and filled his head with a delicious thrum. He closed his eyes as it curled around him and threaded through his clothes and hair. A moment later Harry stepped up beside him and bumped their shoulders together.

"You're amazing without a wand," Harry murmured. "Even with a wand you're better than anyone I've ever seen."

"I'm not as powerful as you are," Draco kept his eyes fixed on the fire, too nervous to look at Harry directly. "As much as school-aged me would resent present me for saying that, it's true."

"But you're more skilled than I am," Harry said. "You always have been. You've never gotten by on luck."

"Maybe not," Draco nodded. "But I had other unfair advantages to open doors for me."

"Regardless," Harry said. "By now it's more about what you do with it than how you got here."

Harry's magic crawled up Draco's spine, raising gooseflesh and shivers as it enrobred him in slipperiness. Harry's shoulder was still pressed up against his and the single point of contact roiled with the intermingling of their essences. Draco's eyes fluttered as the sensation spread through his body.

Harry raised his hand slowly and pivoted Draco so that they were standing face to face. He was two inches taller than Draco, and broad enough to engulf him in his arms. He tentatively touched Draco's neck, just behind his ear, and drew him forward with shy nervousness in his eyes.

He paused where they had stopped before, their noses just brushing, their breath intermingling in the minuscule space between them. Draco's lower lip trembled, aching for closure, for even a whisper of a kiss. One of them had to do it, one of them had to be brave.

Harry's thumb traced the curve of Draco's ear, his eyes filled with need. Draco understood. He was never going to be brave enough to close the distance between them. He could face dark wizards and dangerous magic, but he was scared of kissing Draco Malfoy.

He smiled and raised his hand to cup Harry's cheek and draw him in just that last bit of distance. He kissed Harry lightly, an exploration, a test perhaps, to see if it felt right. When Harry didn't reject him Draco slipped his hands around his waist and drew him in closer so he could push deeper and show him that, yes, it was indeed right.

Harry's hesitation dissolved. He pressed back eagerly, his hands moving now, encircling Draco's body and holding him up against his hard, muscled chest. Draco's head swam with disbelief, astonished that it was actually happening. The memory of that brief, glancing contact by the lake six years ago was drowned out by this moment, the realization of possibility.

They kissed deep and long, their tongues sliding across each other and their lips moving as one. Breath mingled, fingers threaded through hair, hips pressed against each other with mutual desire. Draco took a chance and stepped in the direction of the tent, drawing Harry with him. Harry followed, holding Draco close so that not even a slip of parchment could fit between them.

Draco folded back at the entrance of the tent and checked Harry's face for willingness. Harry's eyes were locked onto his, following his every move. His magic swelled and surrounded them, both pulling Draco near and nudging him towards the tent.

Draco knelt and crawled through the flap, followed by a silky rush of Harry's essence. Harry entered immediately behind, securing the flap before returning his attention to Draco.

The interior of the tent was lit from outside by the orange glow of the fire. Shadows shifted along the fabric walls. Their skin reflected the sharp contrast between firelight and darkness. Harry reached for Draco and quickly unbuttoned his shirt as though afraid he might change his mind. Draco allowed the button-down to be peeled away and cast aside.

Harry paused now, noticing the elaborate sleeve tattoo that emerged from beneath the West Ham T-shirt sleeve and extended down to Draco's wrist. He traced his fingers across the design, his mouth small and round in wonder. Draco yanked the T-shirt over his head and discarded it, holding his fully exposed left arm out for Harry to see.

Across every inch of skin constellations swarmed in an inky blue night sky, transitioning from stars to colorful embodiments of their shapes. Cygnus the swan on his forearm emerged from a cross of pinpoints, Ursa Major and minor on either side of his wrist formed bears from rectangles of light. A set of stars around his elbow formed Canis Major with brilliant Sirius at the heart. Around his bicep and crawling up to the point of his shoulder a sinuous line of stars formed the shape of Draco, the celestial dragon that was his namesake.

Harry feathered his fingers across the design, lingering on his forearm. Draco rolled his wrist in the firelight so Harry could see the way the blackened blue ink background obscured the indelible Dark Mark, rendering it nearly invisible under all but the closest scrutiny.

The light touch raised gooseflesh again, which Harry noticed with a smile. He dipped his head to kiss his way up Draco's tattooed arm, drawing even more goosebumps to the surface. Draco leaned forward on his knees and guided Harry's arms around his waist, reveling in the sensation of strong hands on his back as he pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Draco unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the strong shoulders and chest that he had been fantasizing about since he saw the merit photo at the greengrocer's. His fingers eagerly pressed into the curvaceous lines of muscle, savoring the hardened coiled strength beneath his velvety skin. He could sense Harry's magic seeping from his pores, hot and vaporous at the surface, shimmering above his skin like a desert mirage dancing just above the hot sand.

Harry cupped Draco's head in his palm and tilted it back to reveal the expanse of skin along his neck and shoulder. He buried his mouth in the groove that ran from Draco's ear to his collarbone, kissing sensually and nibbling his flesh. He slowly leaned Draco back until he was laid out on the bedding, completely yielding to Harry's command.

Harry unbuttoned Draco's trousers and pushed them down, followed by his pants. Without hesitation he dipped down to trace his tongue along the line of Draco's hip flexor from his groin to his abdomen. He nuzzled the platinum stretch of hair that grew neatly between Draco's navel and his cock, then slipped his mouth around his cock's head, eliciting a grateful moan from Draco's throat.

Harry's magic crawled up Draco's body, slithery and slick and smooth. It filled his nostrils with a sweetness that had taken on an earthy, musky topnote, evoking the most savage, animal desires from deep within the primal core of his brain. He growled and clutched the bedding as Harry savored his cock, no sign of hurrying evident in his movement. Every inch of Draco's body was on fire, and the smoke of Harry's essence permeated his skin.

Harry released him and crawled up to press a kiss onto Draco's mouth as he unbuttoned his own trousers. He propped himself up on one elbow and paused, gazing down at Draco with desire and need.

"What do you want to do?" he asked innocently.

"I don't know, what do you want to do?" Draco traced his fingers down Harry's strong, stubbled jaw.

"I'd like to," Harry blushed and couldn't finish his sentence.

"I'd like you to, too," Draco smiled. He widened his legs and grasped Harry's cock.

"I can't," Harry gasped, his eyes fluttering as Draco stroked him slowly, "conjure." He struggled to raise his hand and curl his fingers.

Draco understood. He drew Harry's hand to his mouth and kissed the center of his palm, then ran his tongue up the length of his index finger. He pushed Harry's finger into his mouth and sucked, rolling his tongue around the tip. Harry's jaw went slack as he watched Draco savor the digit. Draco looked up at him with a devilish gleam in his eye. He knew the sight was driving him mad.

He released the finger, smirking at the disappointed moan the escaped Harry's throat. Then he whispered a lubrication charm and Harry's palm was magically slick. Disappointment forgotten, Harry grinned as his hand slithered between Draco's legs and tickled his entrance. Draco groaned involuntarily and widened his thighs, inviting Harry to enter.

Harry pressed in and kissed Draco along his neck as he stroked and curled, relaxing the tightness and preparing him for more. Draco's hips rocked reflexively against the dizzying sensation that overwhelmed his self-control. He could feel Harry's magic penetrating him, a satiny sheath that slid even deeper than Harry's finger could reach.

Then a second finger made its appearance, adding a twisting, fluttering, scissor-kick that rocketed straight to Draco's pleasure center. He pushed back, sitting on Harry's hand and drawing him in further. By the time the third finger made an appearance he had had enough of fingers and was desperate for the real thing.

Harry sensed his need and withdrew his hand, then rolled over on top of him and pushed his knees up. Draco nodded eagerly and curled his legs around Harry's waist as he pressed forward and entered firmly. Draco's back arched and he cried out as Harry's cock penetrated him, shooting off bolts of electric pleasure that contracted his muscles and left a tingling hum in their wake.

They gasped together and moaned together, skin slapping together as they pushed in rhythm, Draco tugging his cock and squeezing Harry's arse. Harry kissed him between breaths, then arched his neck towards the sky, then kissed him again.

Draco heard snippets of words fall from his own lips, simple commands like harder, faster, deeper. His body was giving orders and Harry's body was obeying as directed. They thrust as one, the air around them rising in a wild torrent of Harry's overflowing magic, it slipped around and between them, whirling like a cyclone as they climbed towards climax. Draco threw his arms around Harry's back and dug in his fingers as the swirling whirlwind whipped them with gale-force speed. His bollocks tightened and his breath hitched as orgasm welled up from deep inside.

He threw his head back as he came and arched as high as he could, pressing onto Harry's cock with every ounce of strength. The shout of ecstasy held suspended in his throat, paralyzed by the unprecedented peak that seized every muscle in his body. Finally the cry wrenched free, tearing at his larynx as he bucked wildly beneath the other man.

Harry's face was red, sweat beading across his forehead and temples as he came in pulsing shots. He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing between his teeth in an elongated hiss. As the crest passed his thrusting slowed and finally he lowered himself to lay draped across Draco's body in sated exhaustion.

"You're crushing me," Draco grunted beneath the full weight of Harry's muscled body.

"Sorry," Harry raised himself up and slipped free with a kiss. He laid down beside Draco, and raised his hand, a cleansing charm on his lips.

"Don't," Draco brushed his hand away. "Scourgify," he said, clearing the remnants away.

They laid together quietly, heads nestled side by side, fingers tracing lazy lines up and down each other's bodies. Harry's essence was calm, and if Draco wasn't mistaken it had diminished somewhat. He thought sex might be an acceptable substitute for releasing Harry's pressure if they couldn't find his wand.

"Draco," Harry said softly. The sound of his name, his personal name, not his family name, reawakened the gooseflesh on Draco's skin.

"Yes?" he murmured.

"What happened to the tent?"

Draco opened his eyes and stared up at the night sky, crisscrossed by a multitude of tree branches.

"That's a very good question," he said.

They sat up and looked around in bemused silence. The bedding was still there, along with their clothes. But the tent was completely missing and the fire had gone out.

"I think we might have fucked the tent out of existence," he said dryly.

He searched his clothing for his wand and then cast Lumos to look around. Harry dressed quickly and then offered to hold the lighted wand as Draco dressed. The tip flared brilliantly when he took the wand from Draco's hand, illuminating the area like a floodlight.

"Give me that," Draco took his wand back. "You'll blind us both,"

"Sorry," Harry gave him a sheepish crooked smile that made Draco want to undress him all over again. Then Harry frowned as he noticed the West Ham shield on Draco's T-shirt. "I used to have a shirt like that," he said. "I've been looking for the bloody thing for months."

"Well," Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "This is your shirt. Hermione gave it to me for Tracking. But I've sort of been wearing it."

"You've been wearing my shirt?" Harry smiled again, this time sweetly. He pulled Draco in and kissed him again.

They found the tent after a bit of searching and a Lumos Maximus or two. It was caught up high in a nearby tree, dangling by a corner and fluttering in the wind. Draco called it down and reset it with a flick and a twist.

"Frankly I'm surprised my arse is still in one piece," Draco said as he tossed his bag inside. Harry blushed furiously and snorted into his hand.

Draco set protective wards around the perimeter of the campsite to keep out predators, then they curled up together and fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

"Draco, wake up."

"Bollocks, Potter, what time is it?" Draco squinted and buried himself under the covers.

"I don't know, I'm scared I'll blow something up if I cast a time charm."

Draco came fully awake now, remembering why they were sleeping on the ground in the middle of the woods. Harry's magic was spilling out again, flowing over him in waves. He needed his wand so he could drain off the pressure for good.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, shoving the blankets down and inspecting Harry's face closely. He looked sleepy, and the side of his face was covered in pillowcase wrinkles.

"I'm okay," Harry smiled crookedly. "Still feeling off, I guess."

"You let off a bit of steam last night, but not enough," Draco sat up and searched around for his trousers. "You bought yourself some time but we should get searching for your wand so you can get on with it."

Harry captured Draco's wrist and pulled him down, then gazed into his eyes with searching wonder. Draco could guess what he was thinking. He wanted to know if last night was a one-off thing. The fact that he was even wondering filled Draco's heart with warmth. He didn't want a one-time thing. He didn't want to spend the next six years reminiscing about last night.

"Do you remember," he asked softly, running his fingers through Harry's short black hair, "eighth year, after finals, down by the lake?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "I don't know what came over me. You were looking at me, and you were so handsome, and I couldn't stop thinking about you." He trailed his fingers up Draco's arm. "Thinking about your arms around me, on the back of my broom, holding me so tightly." He lifted Draco's hand and threaded their fingers together. "I looked at you and it seemed for just a moment like maybe you were thinking about it, too."

"You held my hand," Draco murmured. "Just for a moment, but it really happened."

"It really happened," Harry nodded.

Draco squeezed Harry's hand and swallowed hard. "Not a day has gone by since that I haven't thought of it."

Harry drew Draco to his lips and kissed him softly. "Me too," he whispered.

A tide of Harry's magic swamped Draco then, reminding him that they had work to do. He pulled Harry to his feet and directed him to get dressed while he stowed the tent and bedding. They had a quick bite to eat, and then they were off, hunting for the buried wand.

"How could you forget where you put it?" Draco called as he stumbled over a boulder, his ankle rolling clumsily. "Expulso!" he slashed his wand at the ground, punishing the rock for its transgression.

"Draco!" Harry ducked and covered his head as gravel rained down around them. "Knock it off. I don't know how I forgot, I just did. I remember there was a pair of trees growing out of a single trunk, so if you see that we're probably close."

"Was it at least near the stream?" Draco asked, brushing the rubble from his shoulders.

"A bit north of it," Harry said. "Keep looking that direction," he pointed off to their left.

"Well there's a pair of trees growing out of one trunk right over there." Draco pointed with his wand. "Does it look familiar?"

"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry sighed and scratched his head. "They all sort of look the same to me."

"Well lets go look, because your magic is flooding the valley and we need to do something fast to dissipate it." Draco's tone was light, but he was becoming concerned again. Last night's dalliance hadn't had a lasting effect on the rising magical overflow. He couldn't be sure how much time Harry had left, but he worried it wasn't much. If they didn't find the wand soon he was going to recommend that Harry throw caution to the wind and try wandless magic again, even at risk of personal injury.

"It looks right," Harry squinted up at the tree. "I buried it in autumn so the trees look different."

"Where about did you dig?" Draco asked.

"Right at the base of the tree."

"Did you at least bury it in its box?"

"Of course I did."

"Well of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "Silly me for thinking you might have done something daft."

"Just dig, you Slytherin prat," Harry dropped to his knees and started clawing at the earth with his hands.

Draco sighed and crossed his arms. When Harry didn't notice he tapped his foot impatiently. Finally he said, "Potter, back up." He raised his wand and cast a Defodio spell, gouging out a great wad of soil at once.

Harry sat back on his heels and watched, his magic rolling off of him in great sheeting waves. Finally he waved his hand for Draco to stop and dug his hands into the dirt again. His face lit up as his fingers made contact with something hard.

"Here!" He shouted. "Dig over this way a bit, but not too deep. Don't damage the box," he pointed excitedly.

"Defodio!" Draco extracted another gob of soil. Harry lunged his hands into the trench and swept the dirt aside until the long, rectangular lid of a box became clearly visible. He wiggled it back and forth to loosen it and then lifted it free.

"Got it," he sighed in relief. He thumbed the two latches open and then pushed the lid open. There, laid neatly in a bed of satin, was Harry's wand. Eleven inches of supple holly, Draco would know it at a single glance.

"Don't handle it with muddy fingers, Potter," Draco said. "Go wash yourself. Don't try a Sourgify, you'll just as likely lop off your hands as clean them."

Harry went to the stream to scrub up. Draco dropped to his knees and gently touched the holly wand, hefting his own Hawthorn wand in his dominant hand. He had never held Harry's wand before, and wondered at the intimacy of doing so.

"Do you want to try it?" Harry's voice came from above. Draco squinted up at him and shook his head. "My hands are clean," Harry smirked and held his fingers out for inspection.

Draco rose to his feet and smiled tolerantly. He nodded at the wand in the box and took a respectful step back. Harry knelt and touched it hesitantly before lifting it free from its satin cocoon. He sighed audibly, his shoulders rounding as he rolled it back and forth between his fingers.

"I've missed you," he breathed. The magic swell warmed, surrounding Draco with blissful happiness and the taste of toasted cinnamon. Harry's magic was glad to be reunited with his wand.

"Come now," Draco dropped a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "There will be time enough to sweet talk your wand later. Let's get you doing a few spells."

He cast about and found a small Snitch-sized stone, which he set on the ground in front of Harry. Affecting his most pedagogical tone, he raised his wand with pinkie extended. "Now repeat after me. Wingardium Leviosa."

Harry glowered over his glasses at him. "I am not doing first year spells," he said.

"Tut tut," Draco sneered pompously. "Wingardium Leviosa."

"Fine. Wingardium Leviosa."

The stone rocketed straight up and was lost in the glare of the sun. Far off in the distance they heard a faint thud. Harry stared at his wand in slack-jawed surprise.

"Well then," Draco cleared his throat. "A few more of those, shall we?"

Harry lofted stone after stone, while Draco scoured the surrounding area for more. Each time the spell fired off it flung the stone far afield in an uncontrolled launch. After Harry's fifteenth try he grabbed the next stone and hurled it by hand as far as he could.

"Sodding rocks, sodding spell, it's going too sodding slow!" he shouted. "Why isn't it getting any better?" he whirled on Draco and held his arms out wide. "You're the Tracker. Tell me, is it getting any better?"

"Only a bit," Draco said honestly. "I don't know how else to fix this. Even the smallest spells you cast are too strong by an order of magnitude. How can you go any faster without endangering yourself?"

"There has to be a middling point," Harry raked his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Don't get upset," Draco tossed a handful of stones in a pile and drew Harry into his arms. "You spent a year stopping up your magic. It's going to take more than a few lobbed pebbles to fix it."

"I suppose so," Harry encircled Draco in his arms and kissed him, a smile playing across his lips as Draco kissed him back.

"Is that an Engorgio in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Draco murmured. Harry's hips jerked back and tilted to hide his erection. Draco chuckled and stroked his thumb across the bulge. "Not now," he murmured. "But I'll reward you for your work later."

Harry groaned and released him. He sighed and went back to lofting rocks into the sky and Draco went back to gathering more.

"I think I've cleared the whole valley," Draco said finally. "How about you move on to Locomotor?" He pointed at a particularly large boulder that jutted out of the ground.

"I can't move something that large," Harry sighed. "No, don't say it, I'll give it a try." He pointed his wand with a bored air, "Locomotor." The ground shook as the automobile-sized rock trembled its way free and hovered above the ground.

"Hold it for as long as you can," Draco suggested. "Surely that will eat up some magical excess."

Harry held his arm rigid and focused with intense concentration. Several silent minutes passed until Harry's brow broke out in a sweat and his hand began to tremble. The enormous stone wobbled and then tilted, and finally Harry released it with a gasp. The boulder crashed to the ground and rolled towards the stream before coming to rest.

"How does my magic feel now?" Harry held his arms out.

"Better," Draco nodded. "Still spilling out of you, though. But at least you're not like an overlooked sausage splitting at the seams anymore."

"That is an improvement," Harry said wryly. "Seems like I should be able to try something bigger now."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Draco warned. But he knew that look in the former Gryffindor's eye. "Harry, wait!"

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry thrust his wand towards the stream.

Draco felt the impact before his other senses caught up. One moment he was warning Harry off, and then next he was laid out on his back by the force of a sledge hammer. Blinding white light filled the valley, obliterating shadows and searing Draco's vision. He cried out but was plastered to the ground by the force of the swell, unable to even shield his eyes from the scorching light. His lungs grabbed desperately for air but the pressure wave of the intense Patronus crushed relentlessly down on him.

His vision swam, and for a moment he was certain that this was the end. He'd always heard dying was like a light at the end of a tunnel. Maybe that was what this was. He stared up at the illuminated branches above him and tried to figure out how to go into the light. Then a flicker of motion just beyond his periphery caught his attention, and he was just able to lift his head enough to look directly into the glare of an enormous stag formed entirely of light. The stag stepped delicately over to him and nuzzled his leg, then looked up into the distance and moved on.

Suddenly Draco was able to move. The light continued to flood the forest but he could roll to his side and then push himself up on hands and knees. He gasped for breath as he wobbled for balance, his ears ringing with the streaming Patronus blast. Before him lay Harry, flat on his back with his wand in his hand, light fountaining out of the tip like a geyser. Harry's face was ashen and his body was limp.

The stag appeared at Draco's side again and nudged his elbow with its nose. It was trying to tell Draco something, he was sure of it. The stag stepped over to Harry and stood over him, before bounding away again.

Draco dropped to his elbows and fished up his sleeve for his wand. He grimaced and gasped with the effort, the weight of the streaming Patronus nearly more than he could withstand. He finally got a grip on the wand and yanked it free, falling to his stomach with a grunt. He raised his hand and aimed with one eye squinted.

"Expellliarmus!" he shouted. A spark shot from his wand and struck Harry's hand, knocking the holly wand out of his grip. The light streaming from the tip extinguished and the forest around them dimmed to normal daylight. Draco shoved himself to his feet and staggered to Harry's side.

Harry was pale, unmoving. His jaw was slack and his eyes were closed. Draco felt his neck for a pulse and lowered his ear to his mouth to listen for breath. When he felt the throb beneath his fingertips and the slight brush of exhalation he nearly choked in relief.

"Get up, you daft Gryffindor arse," he said sharply. "Rennervate,"

Harry's eyes fluttered and then opened. "What happened?" he croaked.

"You cast the world's biggest Patronus, you nutter," Draco said. "Gryffindors never learn."

"You keep saying Gryffindor," Harry squinted up at him. "It's like school all over again."

"Except in school I wouldn't have done this," Draco leaned over and kissed Harry deeply. Harry's arms slipped around him and held him close.

Just then Draco was struck with a sudden realization. He broke the kiss off with a sloppy smack and sat up. "I think that did it," he said, eyebrows high on his forehead. "I don't feel your magic spilling over anymore.

"Really?" Harry sat up now and looked around, as though his magic could be seen hiding in the forest around them.

"You actually feel normal," Draco ran his hand down Harry's arm and focused with his Tracker sense. He picked up a normal level of Harry's signature, still satiny sweet but no longer overflowing and overwhelming.

"Does that mean I'm fixed?" Harry asked.

"It means you're not stopped up anymore," Draco said. "And it means I saved your life so I've paid my debt."

"And you've earned a cool five hundred Galleons in the process," Harry smirked.

"No, I haven't earned my fee yet," Draco shook his head. "For that, I have to bring you home."

Harry swallowed hard. "And what if I don't want to go home?"

"That's your choice," Draco tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"What if," Harry said slowly, rolling his wand between his fingers, "what if I'm willing to go home on one condition?"

"What condition?"

"I want to go home with you," Harry looked up, his green eyes shining brilliantly. "I think I can be who I want to be with you. Not what I'm expected to be."

"You might find they're more similar than you think," Draco said, lacing his fingers through Harry's.

"So can I come home with you?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sure," Draco tried not to sound too pleased, but he could feel his cheeks flush pink.

"Then let's get out of these woods," Harry climbed to his feet. "I could really use a shower." He grinned at Draco, then with a small pop he Disapparated. Draco sighed in relief, then Disapparated, too.


	9. Chapter 9

"You are not putting that cage in the bedroom, Potter."

"Well he has to go somewhere," Harry set the skink's terrarium down on the parlor cocktail table.

"I don't know why you need it anymore," Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's clearly a substitute for me, and now you have me."

"He is not!" Harry protested. "Just because he's white and I named him Dragon-" his voice petered out and he shook his head with a laugh. "Maybe you're right, maybe he is a substitute."

"You can put it downstairs in the shop," Draco said. "But I'm not promising he won't get eaten."

"By what?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Where is she? Millie said she dropped her off this morning," Draco peered beneath the sofa. "There you are," he scooped the black Persian cat into his arms and held her up for Harry to see. "Harry, I'd like you to meet, er, Hairy."

Harry looked at him over the top of his glasses. "Beg pardon?"

"Don't read too much into it," Draco said. "It's Hairy, like long hair."

"Right," Harry smirked dubiously.

"No really, and I didn't name her anyway," Draco said. "It's a coincidence."

"Right."

"Well you have a lizard named Dragon!" Draco shouted.

"Indeed I do, Draco," Harry chuckled. "Here, let me hold my namesake."

"She's not-"

"Hello!" Hermione's voice came through the Floo. "Can we come through?"

"Come on, then," Draco waved his hand and rubbed his temples.

Suddenly the parlor was filled with Gryffindors and offspring. Hermione burst into tears the instant she arrived, which caused Rose to start crying, which drew Harry's attention to the baby, which cause him to start crying. Ron and Draco exchanged a look across the room and each went to comfort their partners.

"Uh," Ron looked up with a face full of doubt as he eyed Draco's arm around Harry's shoulders. "What's all this, then?"

"Oh," Harry looked up now, tears arrested. "Well. You both know that I'm, you know."

"Sort of," Hermione cocked her head and shushed the baby. "I mean really? I thought you were still working that out."

"It's long past worked out," Harry said. He took Draco's hand in his and blushed. "And there's always been something here. Just never really spoken aloud. Until now."

"Oh cut to the chase, he's moving in with me," Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione and Ron stared at him in shock.

"I said bring him home, not shack up with him!" Ron shouted.

"Please calm down," Harry pleaded. "This is who I am, and this is what I want. It's either this or I go back to live among people who don't care."

"Well I'm not paying five hundred Galleons for this," Ron huffed.

"Harry, we want you to be happy," Hermione said. "You don't have to live up to our expectations. It's your life. It always has been."

"No it hasn't," Harry said sadly. "But from now on it will be."

"So you're staying, then?" Ron asked. "You're not going to live as a muggle anymore?"

"I'm going to keep my job at the bookstore," Harry said. "I like it and I like my coworkers. But I've given up the flat and I'll come home to Diagon Alley at night, I suppose. Maybe help out in the shop a bit." He checked Draco for agreement.

"Damn straight. I'm not feeding that bloody lizard, so you'd better show up to take care of it." Draco said. "For your information Granger, he named his pet after me, too. So you can keep your thoughts about my cat to yourself."

Hermione and Ron stared at him like he'd lost his mind. And maybe he had, he thought. Because what could be more mad than this? Six years out of school, six years spent reinventing himself and putting Hogwarts behind him, and here he was holding hands with Harry Potter and entertaining Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. If there was anything more mad than that, he didn't want to hear it.

"Draco! Are you there?"

"Oh sweet Merlin," Draco sighed. "Yes, pile on in, Millie."

"Salazar!" she exclaimed as she climbed through the Floo. The cozy parlor was crowded now. Draco shoved Harry over on the sofa to make room for Millicent on the other side.

"Millicent," Hermione said coolly.

"Hermione," Millicent raised a groomed eyebrow in return.

"Ladies, let's start fresh, shall we?" Draco said. "No use getting into a debate over who put whom into a headlock in second year."

Millicent sat up straight and cleared her throat uncomfortably. Hermione busied herself with the baby. The silence was thick.

"I hear you're a healer now," Ron said.

"I am," Millicent smiled. "Turns out I had a knack for something after all."

"And I hear you're dating," Ron's cheeks flushed.

"You didn't really say it, did you?" Millicent's eyes bugged out at Draco.

"It might have slipped out."

"Merlin," she buried her face in her hands. She glanced over and noticed Harry's hand intertwined with his. "Hold on, what's that?"

"It's exactly what it looks like," Draco said.

"Darling!" she squealed and kissed him on the cheek. "Good thing, too, Potter. He's been in love with you for ages. Totally in denial about it, though."

"Millie," Draco groaned. He wished he could crawl under the sofa and hide.

"Now we're even," she smirked.

"Slytherins," Ron shook his head in amazement.

"It's okay," Harry squeezed Draco's hand. "I've been totally in denial about you for years, too."

Hermione and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable look. Millie squealed in delight again.

"Well this has been lovely," Draco raised his voice. "But Tracking takes a lot out of me and I'd like to get some rest."

"I need to finish unpacking, too," Harry said.

The Weasley family and Milicent all agreed to let them have some peace and quiet. Hugs went all around, which resulted in an embarrassing accidental embrace between Milicent and Ron, and then they were all through the Floo.

Harry spotted a small baby sock on the floor and held it up for inspection. "They forgot this."

"Never mind that, Potter," Draco sighed. "I suspect they're going to be traipsing through that Floo often enough that it will work itself out."

"You really don't mind?" Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist and kissed his neck.

"Keep doing that and I won't mind if they ask us to babysit," Draco moaned.

"Really?" Harry leaned back and eyed him suspiciously.

"Merlin no, are you mad?" Draco made a gagging face. "There's only so far any one man can change."

"Maybe so," Harry murmured. "I guess I'll just have to find that out for myself."

Draco kissed him deeply and took him by the hand, fingers laced together as they escaped to the bedroom. He looked up and met brilliant green eyes, not fleeting this time, no longer the look of missed opportunity. Harry laid him back on the bed and quirked his lips in a smile.

"What's that look for?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," Draco threaded his fingers through Harry's hair, "I won't have to wait another six years for this. You're going to be here every day."

"I'd die if I had to wait another six years," Harry leaned greedily into his touch. "Promise me something."

"What's that?"

"Promise if I ever leave, you'll always come find me." Harry said softly.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Potter," Draco said. "Now that I've gotten the taste of you, I would track you to the ends of the earth."

THE END


End file.
